


when something wild calls you home

by theoneinquisitor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Mostly just some funny blarke fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:50:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17070377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneinquisitor/pseuds/theoneinquisitor
Summary: They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Except Clarke isn't really getting over Finn and she'd very much like to stay under Bellamy.Or: Finn is a cheating bastard, Bellamy and Clarke are bad at feelings, and somehow this all relates.





	when something wild calls you home

**Author's Note:**

> I found this just hanging out in my docs 95% finished so I slapped an ending on it and decided to post because I actually think it's really cute?

To be fair, Clarke has never once claimed to be an emotionally stable human being. Not that it's something that's come into question often, but today it just might be debatable. She's sitting at the bar, having just finished her second glass of wine, when her phone rings for the fourteenth time.

“Can I get a glass of water?” She asks the bartender gently, and she obliges with a sad smile. Must be a girl thing, some feminine sixth sense -- they can sense when the other is in distress. Or got royally fucked over.

She picks up her phone and glares back at the picture lighting up her screen. With a sharp sigh and a roll of her eyes, she drops the phone into the glass of water with a satisfying _bloop_. The screen, thankfully, goes black.

“Jesus,” she tenses automatically, a simple reflex to hearing the bane of her existence utter one single word, “Rough day, Princess?”

Leave it to Bellamy to catch her at her worst. He has a way of showing up uninvited into her life -- hell they only met because he decided to pick a fight with her during the middle of a frat party their Freshman year of college. And, yeah okay, it's been six fucking years since that day and they've been straddling the line of pure loathing to a weird friendship, mostly because all their friends are friends so they're obligated to spend time together pretty often. But for the love of all that is holy, she might punch him. Or fuck him. Who knows at this point?

(Again, she never claimed to be emotionally stable and it's been a weird day.)

“You could say that,” She shrugs, her eyes focusing on the drowning phone and not him. She hears the squeak of the stool next to her and sighs.

“Gina,” he calls the bartender, “Can I get a tall, please?”

 _He would know her name,_ she thinks bitterly. He's been known to get around once or twice, something that often gives her plenty of ammo when it comes to arguments.

“Painters block?” He questions and she almost smiles because it actually sounds like a genuine question and not some snarky ass remark. Being a professional artist has consequently given him plenty of jokes at her expense. Mostly about how she doesn't have a job, just a hobby. Which, fair, but annoying.

She flags down Gina once more, who is looking understandably apprehensive about her next request. She point to the empty wine glass and the girl seems relieved, like she won't be party to the next mental break down. Not like she has anymore electronics to destroy, anyway.

She takes a long drink before turning to him, blue eyes sharp and tongue even sharper, “No, I actually have a lot of good ideas. Starting with using my ex-boyfriends blood as paint.”

Perhaps the statement would have scared away a lesser person, but Bellamy has heard her say some off the wall shit so this is nothing new, and she actually appreciates how immune he seems to be to her morbid sense of humor.

“Ex-boyfriend, huh?” He asks with a raised brow. She knows his interest is piqued, he's been a vocal opponent of her dating choices, especially the most recent one.

(“He's a fucking grade-a douchebag, Clarke. You can do so much better,” as he so eloquently put it.)

She hates when he's right.

“Turns out I was the side chick in this scenario,” and she laughs because what is regulating emotions?

“What?” his tone darkens and can only be described as a growl. When she glances at him, his jaw is clenched so tightly it could probably crush a brick. The reaction surprises her somewhat, mostly because she expected him to offer to punch said ex in the face and be done with it, but he actually looks upset for her. Worried, even.

“It’s not a big deal or anything." Really, she isn’t that heartbroken about it. She liked Finn okay, but she never thought it would go anywhere. The sex was boring and frankly, so was he. Which is why it astounds her that not only was he dating her, but Raven fucking Reyes as well.

She knew Raven, as did most people in Arkadia. The NASA genius, a badass in every sense of the word, and gorgeous to boot.. They had been acquaintances through college and she really liked the girl. So, it sucks that Finn Collins of all people played her. Played Clarke, too. They both deserve better.

“Like hell it’s not,” Bellamy snaps and she winces slightly from the bite. She’s never heard him sound so genuinely pissed.

And it’s doing things to her body. Something strange runs up her spine.

_Get a fucking grip, Griffin!_

“Seriously,” she reassures, “I’m fine.”

“Your phone says otherwise,” he grumbles and she laughs again, because she really did _that_. It’s not like she’s completely insane -- she’s due for an upgrade and this gives her an excuse to change her number so Finn “Fuckboy” Collins can never call her again. Win-win.  

“For fucks sake." She turns to him, laying her hand on his own, which had begun to pick at the chipping paint of the bar counter. It’s something he does when he’s extremely frustrated, he fidgets. She hates the way her skin tingles again at the contact because they’re supposed to hate each other -- they don’t, of course not, but they have appearances to uphold. Though at this moment she’s just about ready to say fuck it.

_Focus!_

“I really am fine,” she squeezes his fingers, “Finn sucked. He’s a boring person. He sucks in bed. I’m not losing out on anything.”

The corner of his mouth twitches at that. "And?”

She releases his hand and rolls her eyes, turning back to the bar with a dramatic sigh, “And you were right.”

She can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Three words I thought I’d never hear.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” she replies, but she’s smiling too and just like that, her bad mood dissipates. It’s something that Bellamy has always been able to do with her, granted he’s usually the one to put her in a bad mood, but he always knows how to fix it. Damn him and his smirk and his really, really attractive face.

(Okay, here's the thing. She's never actually hated him, at least, not really. He's pretentious and frustrating but damn near impossible to hate. He's the nerdiest person on the planet and a fucking mother hen and just overall _good_ person. And on the days she lets herself admit it, she's had a crush on him for ages. Whatever, it's fine. She's an adult with a perpetual crush on her supposed enemy. A crush so fucking out of control that she just walked in on her boyfriend cheating and she doesn’t even care that much.)

_Son of a bitch._

Only proceeding to make matters worse, he grins at her and asks, “So, he was bad in bed, huh?”

They’re definitely on the precipice of insinuations and flirting and she is _so_  here for it, but then a familiar voice breaks the sexual tension before it even really begins.

“Clarke?”

She turns on her stool to find the other woman -- or the original woman depending on how you look at it. Before now, it had been a couple of years since she last saw Raven. She’s been off building rockets and shit while Clarke has been fumbling through adulthood ungracefully and if that fact alone isn’t unfair enough, she’s gotten far more attractive.

_Finn is a Goddamned idiot._

It's only when Raven laughs quietly that she realizes she said it out loud.

“I mean, hi.” she blinks stupidly, because what else does she say?

“Can we grab a drink?” Raven asks. She nods automatically, because really, the girl deserves an apology or something, especially considering Clarke was definitely the homewrecker in this relationship, albeit, unintentionally. And they're almost friends, so she owes her that.

“Two margaritas. On the rocks. Be generous with the tequila.” Raven orders.

“Please don’t leave,” she hisses into Bellamy’s ear and he nods, shouting something about fried pickles to Gina.

What a guy.

Raven finds a corner booth of the bar, nice and private. She slides one of the margaritas in front of Clarke and it feels a lot like a peace offering. Or a trap. It’s hard to tell.

“So,” Raven begins, folding her hands like they’re in the middle of business meeting, “How long have you been fucking my boyfriend?”

Clarke chokes slightly, covering it up by coughing into her hand nervously. There’s really no easy way to have this conversation so she tries as best she can, “We started seeing each other about six months ago. But for the record, I had no idea he had a girlfriend. He conveniently left that part out.”

Raven is silent for a moment, narrowing her eyes as if able to tell if she’s lying based on how much she makes her squirm. Clarke keeps her eyes locked on hers, hoping she knows that she would have never intentionally been with a guy who already had a girlfriend. Finally, Raven lifts the drink to her lips and downs it in one long gulp, an impressive yet intimidating display.

“Four years,” she says finally, “Four years with that asshole and for what? Can’t keep it in his pants for one god damn year while I’m away.”

Instinctively, she reaches across the table to find her hand, “I’m really sorry.”

Clarke slides over her own drink, sensing that Raven needs it a lot more than she does, and she takes it gratefully before taking another long gulp.  “He’s the only family I’ve had, you know? What am I supposed to do now?”

“It’s up to you,” she says quietly.  Soothingly. “But do whatever is best for you.”

She laughs, a tear rolling down her smooth cheek, “Right now, I think getting really drunk is best for me.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Clarke was already well on her way to drunk, so it only takes one glass of tequila -- bless Gina, that was not a margarita -- for her to be three sheets to the wind, giggling and red-faced and talking a bit too loudly. She and Raven trade stories of Finn’s worst qualities, and she is admittedly glad that Finn seems to be bad in bed, in general, and that it wasn’t actually her. She’s raises her glass when Raven stands up to proclaim she’s sworn off men and they fall into each other in a fit of giggles.

“Alright, Princess, I think it’s past your bedtime.” She hadn’t noticed Bellamy approach and feels guilty when she realizes she had forgotten she asked him to stay. And he did stay! How long had they been there?

“I’m totally fine!” she says unconvincingly, punctuating it with a hiccup.

He only laughs. “Sure you are. Let me get you home.”

He offers his hand and she takes it gratefully, swaying slightly as she slides from booth. His hands grip her arms to steady her and she watches intently as his thumb rubs small circles into her skin. It’s a gentle gesture and she’s feeling suddenly warm. He has nice hands.

“Thanks.” he responds and she mentally slaps herself because she really needs to stop thinking out loud. She turns back to Raven, who’s sitting up in the booth now with an unreadable expression her face.

“This is Bellamy.” she introduces, snaking and arm around his waist to pull him closer. Her head ends up against his chest and she leans further into it because he’s so _warm._ Is he always this warm?

“Damn, Griffin,” Raven whistles, “You move on quick.”

She pulls away from where she had been leaning a little too heavily into his chest and rolls her eyes. “We’re not together. He’s like my arch nemesis.”

“Ouch. And here I thought we were making progress.” Bellamy feigns hurt, but doesn’t let her go completely, though she’s not entirely sure if it’s because he wants to or because he thinks she might fall over. Whatever, she’s not complaining.

“Okay, fine,” she drawls, “We’re friends or something.”

“Or something.”

“Okay,” Ravens claps, drawing out the ‘o’, “I’m going to call an Uber and go sleep for three days. Have fun being ‘friends’ or whatever.”

She stands and wobbles for a moment before ending up back into the scratchy vinyl of the booth. Clarke reaches for her to try and help, but then ends up on top of her and they both break into another fit of giggles.

“Lord help me.” she hears Bellamy mutter, “I’m taking both of you home. Now. Let’s go Thelma and Louise.”

“Ohhhhhh, you’re taking us both _home_ are you, Baloney?”

“Yeah, to your own beds,” he says, seemingly unbothered by her innuendo and intentional, but hilarious, name flub. “Up, up.”

Clarke has to give him credit. Mother hen Bellamy, while insufferable, is also patient and kind when push comes to shove. She and Raven are the _worst_ sort of drunk at this point, loud and obnoxious and spiteful, though the last part is for good reason and she knows she’s sees Bellamy have to bite back a laugh numerous times. When he pulls up to Raven’s apartment, he doesn’t hesitate to help her up the stairs and make sure she gets in safe and sound.

“She’s on her side, there’s a trash can next to her bed with two tylenol and water, and I made sure to write down your number so you all can do it all over again.”

Clarke is practically giddy in the back seat. “Aw, Blake, you are so sweet!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Her apartment isn't far from Raven’s but by the time he pulls in, she’s starting to doze and her limbs are practically lead.

Bellamy must think she’s asleep, because she hears him mutter something that oddly sounds like, “You're lucky I love you, Princess.” And if her head wasn't current spinning at an abnormal rate, she would unpack that because _hello, did he really just say that? Better yet, what does he mean?_

An arm is shoved under her knees as the other one cradles her back and she's lifted from the car in an impressive lift. She'll have to compliment him on that later, but for now she snuggles her head into the crook of his neck.

So. Warm.

“Clarke?”

Bellamy, and her by association considering they are very attached at the moment, stops moving and she is now, suddenly, very much sober.

“Move, Collins.” his chest rumbles against her as he practically growls and something else shoots along her spine and _fucking hell, not now, Clarke!_

“Is she okay?” he asks, promptly ignoring Bellamy's request.

“Fine.”

Part of her is very curious to see how this plays out if she pretends to be asleep and lets Bellamy handle things. Seems dangerous though, considering. So she leans up and kicks her legs. “I’m good.”

He tries to read her, a raised eyebrow as if to say _you sure?_ So she nods and he lets her gently to the ground, keeping a firm arm around her waist and she leans into it because she likes moral support and she doesn't want him to stop touching her.

Er, you know, for the warmth. Definitely not because she likes him touching her and she would like him to keep doing it forever because he’s just...

“Really? Of all people, you pick him?” Finn asks, promptly breaking her from her thoughts of Bellamy's warm hands and cute face and -- oh hell no.

“Come again?”

“We aren’t even officially broken up and you're already bringing someone home, I mean, shit, I always knew you had a thing for _him_ but--”

She sees red. Not the pretty kind of red, like early dawn when the sun is beginning to rise. It's blood red, dark and angry and -- holy fuck he's really standing outside her apartment spitting accusations.

She storms forward and shoves her finger into his chest, “Listen here, _buddy,_ I'm pretty sure me telling you to go fuck yourself was a more than adequate break up statement. Especially considering you were balls deep in your other girlfriend--”

“If you would just let me explain…” he cuts her off, which only further pisses her off.

“There is no explanation! I caught you. I talked to Raven. Everything was intentional and you're a piece of shit. The end.”

“Not the end! We can work it out--”

“I don't care that much, Finn. I’m over it and you so please, I'd like to go to bed.” She yanks her keys from her purse clumsily, shoving past him to get to her door. Even with shaking hands, she gets it into the lock the first time around.

“With him?”

The lock clicks. “None of your fucking business, but yeah, probably.”

Okay, maybe that was a little forward but she likes dramatics. She reaches for Bellamy and drags him into the apartment. Despite looking completely off guard, he still manages one last glare at Finn. She slams the door and locks it as loud as she possibly can and just because, she says, “Prick.”

She flips on the light, tossing her purse in the corner because she's an adult, she can be messy if she wants. She doesn't even bother looking back at him, just stomps to the bedroom expecting him to follow impulsively because if he doesn't make sure she's okay he might spontaneously combust.

And he does because he's Bellamy and she’s Clarke and even if it's an unspoken thing, it's still a _thing._

“Fucking asshole,” she grumbles, pulling off her sweater with an angry tug and launching it into the chair (you know the one, with the pile of clothes that never gets put away).  She shucks her pants without thinking, because her skin is uncomfortably hot with rage and she hates pants. “Showing up at my apartment like I’m just going to be like, ‘oh hey, you know what, it's okay that you made me a side chick.”

“Uh, Clarke…”

She crosses her arms over chest, the anger spilling off her tongue before she can even think about it. “I mean, is there something wrong with me that I just attract the worst people? Or maybe I’m just gullible. I should have known he was a cheating piece of--”

“Clarke.” it's the sound of his voice that gets her attention rather than her name. It's quietly restrained and when she finally focuses on him, his cheeks are red and his eyes are everywhere but on her.

Because she literally just stripped off her pants and is standing in front of him in nothing but a pair of boy shorts and a tank top. Oh. _Oh._

There are a pair of pyjama pants sitting on her bed. She could just pull them on and make a joke, pulling him into the living room to watch _Man in the High Castle_ because he got her into that shit and she's almost done with season one. He'll talk her ear off about something abstract, she'll fall asleep with her head in his lap.

(They've been here before which is why this whole charade is complete and utter bullshit but they're both stubborn assholes.)

She's feeling bold now, though. Maybe a little but of alcohol. Maybe the adrenaline of finding her boyfriend cheating and not caring like she should. Maybe it’s because being around him just amplifies all her senses and she's on overload. Whatever it may be, she has the overwhelming urge to wrap herself around him and never let go. And maybe tell him how she feels.

(And how does she feel? When she's around him, she feels other worldly. Giddy and frustrated and warm and happy. Always happy even when she shouldn't be.)

She approaches him carefully, stopping in front of him and sliding her hand around his neck. Softly, “Hey, look at me.”

He does, breath noticeably hitching in his throat as he murmurs her name again. His hand creeps onto her waist, thumb pressed to the small gap between her shirt and underwear.

“What did Collins mean when he said you always had a thing for me?”

He's smirking now, that goddamn smirk, because he knows _exactly_ what he meant. It's not like it hasn't been that obvious. They are a walking trope, that enemies to friends to something else entirely that they haven't put a label on because they're messy and really enjoy the game.

“I hate you.” is what she says, but it's an admission in a way, a very Clarke way of telling Bellamy she wants him in every way possible.

He gets it, though. He shakes his head and leans down to meet her halfway. Kissing him isn’t some life altering, earth bending moment. Not because it isn’t everything, but because it is ridiculously long overdue.

It doesn't take long for things to escalate, his hands quickly sliding under her ass to hoist her up and drag her to the bed. Her hands are greedy, everywhere, and their tongues hungry. He tastes like beer and fried pickles, and she’s sure she tastes like tequila and a long night.

He's on top of her, mouth leaving a hot trail down her neck when he suddenly pulls back.

“What?” she pouts because she's like, really into this, and definitely had no plans to slow down.

“You're drunk.” he sighs. She wants to laugh at the disappointment in his eyes. She can practically hear his thoughts in this moment -- she's drunk and doesn’t actually want this or worse, doesn't know what she's doing.  Which is _so_ ridiculous because they've basically had six years worth of foreplay.

“I was,” she concedes, “But telling off your ex and proceeding to tell the actual person you love that you're in love with them can really sober a girl up.”

“Oh is that what you call it?” he jokes, “Pretty sure you told me the opposite of ‘I love you.’”

“Semantics,” she shrugs innocently, “You knew what I meant.”

“Why are we like this?” This is what she loves about him. He isn't pushing her to say it outright -- he's very much aware of her aversion to using the term for reasons, and he accepts it. Because they're both fucked up and weird and just…

“For the record, this has been a thing since Junior year when you had to carry me out of the dining hall.”

(By _thing_ , she means an absolute shit post of feelings for him that she never asked for but got anyway and has made a complete mess of.)

He tosses his head back with a groan, “You mean to tell me that it started for you when I had to physically restrain you from punching Louise and stealing an entire pie from the buffet?”

She smiles just thinking about it. “You didn't judge me for being weird nor question why I wanted to steal it.”

“Why did you want to steal it?”

“I was going to eat the whole thing and watch _Legally Blonde_ before calling my mom to tell her I was dropping pre-med.”

“And what did poor Louise do to deserve your wrath?”

“Stood in the way of me and my pie.”

He cracks up, laughing into her shoulder as the memory undoubtedly plays in his mind. She was a wreck that day, a walking disaster and he took her on like it was nothing.

“Why didn't you ever say anything?” he asks finally.

She shrugs again, “Timing was never right and I'm bad at feelings.”

He leans up and kisses her softly. She tries to latch onto him because she would really like to finish what they started, but he seems to have other plans. “You're a mess.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits it with admirable ease, as if he'd been saying it for years and it’s not some big revelation.

So of course she has to be dumb. “Huh?”

“Oh, sorry, was that not obvious?”

_You're lucky I love you, Princess._

“Since when?” it's only fair since she just admitted to holding out for three fucking years.

“When you told me to stop being a pretentious know it all because I corrected you for saying ‘Hercules’ instead of ‘Herakles’.”

_“If you're going to flex your Greek knowledge muscles as a party trick, maybe double check that you get the name right. Herakles, not Hercules, for future reference.” he had said, interrupting her attempt at hitting on one of the girls from Chi Omega._

_“If you're going to be a pretentious know it all, maybe don't fucking interrupt me.” she responded angrily._

(The ensuing fight was as follows: nearly three hours, several locations in the same house, a lot of biting remarks, and two difficult humans arguing about nearly everything. Intellectuals, you know?)

Her mouth drops open because that was literally the day they met and there is no way he could have been holding those feelings in for that long…

Shit. No, come to think of it, he absolutely could. After that night, suddenly he was everywhere. Picking fights and then grinning smugly when she would get worked up. At the library. The bar. The cafe.

And the timing was never right. Clarke had a serious girlfriend most of college. Bellamy had his fair share of relationships. He studied abroad during the summer and spring they both happened to be single. Her dad died last christmas, during which he made her dinner for three weeks straight because she refused to feed herself.

God, was she really that blind?

“You were a fucking hurricane. Chaos in human form and you absolutely terrified me but you were so different and beautiful and I don't think I knew what it was at the time, but I definitely fell for you instantly. Hard not to. I guess I’m just bad at feelings too. Or expressing them, anyway.”

She doesn't know how to respond so she just kisses him. Kisses him like she should have three years ago or hell, maybe even six. She wonders what it would have been like had they done this then, though. They were young and stupid in college. She was terrible at commitment and had unresolved trauma that ruined virtually every relationship she had. He would have given up traveling for her, she just knows it, and there would be resentment there. There would just have to be.

So in the end, it's hilarious and stupid that it took this long for them to stop playing chicken. But perhaps, for the best. They're equal parts messy. Chaotic good. Bad at so many things but perfect for each other.

And this, she thinks as they explore one another, is the best it could be. The beginning of something more epic. Totally worth the wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> anyways, i'm hoping to have plenty of updates on current fics coming your way after the new year! 
> 
> For now, i hope this holds you over. Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @octannibal-blake  
> Find me on twitter: @octannibalblake


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